Only once before have I had to submit a short story proposal instead of a short story to a new market. That was in the case of the Doctor Who: Destination Prague anthology, where we had to pitch the story along with that version of the Doctor and the companions who would appear. The pitches were very short, as I recall, about 100-150 words. First time was the lucky charm: I got the green light to write “Leap Second.”
This morning I wrote a 150-word pitch for another anthology being edited by someone I’ve worked with a couple of times recently. I thought I was going to propose one story, but when it came time to put my fingers on the keyboard I realized that story was a little bit too far from the guidelines. Since the deadline for pitches is this week, I thought I was S.O.L. but I came up with another idea on the spot and I liked it a lot, so I sent it off. Fingers crossed. If the pitch is accepted, then I’ll actually have to write the damn thing. At least I came up with a possible title for it later on this morning.
The new series, Covert Affairs, on USA is continuing strong. Episode 3 was set partly in Caracas, a city with which I have a passing familiarity. They must have done some second unit work in Venezuela, or else they picked up some stock footage of the slums on the outskirts of the town, because I recognized some of it. I went there on a business trip many years ago, by myself. Flew into the city on the day before Columbus Day, which is a big holiday in the country. My host arranged for a special driver to pick me up and take me to my hotel. The next day I wandered the city (by myself), avoiding eating all the things I’d read about that might make me sick (fresh fruits and salads, ice in drinks). I enjoyed seeing the place and never once felt a bit threatened but my host told me the next day that what I’d done hadn’t been very smart. Live and learn, I guess. One thing I always remember about that trip is that the same driver picked me up each morning to take me to IVIC, the scientific institute I was visiting, which was a bit out of town. There was this huge circular roundabout on the way up a hill. I couldn’t tell you how many lanes wide it was, because the concept of lanes was a bit moot. It was more like a swarm of vehicles operating under some poorly defined, poorly understood set of rules. We were never in an accident, but I think I saw a new dent on his car every time he picked me up. During one trip he told me the number of car accidents that took place in the city every day. I don’t remember the number, not even the order of magnitude, but it was astonishingly large. Or not, after experiencing the traffic!
I think the new series on TNT should be called Rizzoli and Isles. No slight against Sacha Alexander intended, but the show really is Angie Harmon’s. We know more about her character’s day-to-day job, we’ve met her mother, father, siblings, childhood friends, boss, and co-workers. Whereas Isles has been mostly a character to make fun of because she’s so anal and literal. The writers drag Isles along to places she has no business going just to give her a bit more screen time. In this week’s episode she went with Rizzoli to try to dig the truth out of the culprits, but her only purpose in being there was to confirm the lie Rizzoli planned to tell to trick the killer. Not a very good use of Boston’s resources, one would think. Shouldn’t she have autopsies to conduct? Plus, as written, she’s a terribly annoying character. Still, Harmon’s Rizzoli is enough to keep me coming back to the series.
I finished Mr. Peanut last night. It’s going to take me some time to assemble my thoughts on the book. It’s a strange little creature.
